


The Blood and Love Theory

by Portrait_of_a_Fool



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bloodplay, Explicit Language, Knifeplay, M/M, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portrait_of_a_Fool/pseuds/Portrait_of_a_Fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a theory, a curiosity Danny wanted to explore further and something he could do for Steve because he seemed to need it. Then Danny started to need it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blood and Love Theory

They’re on Steve’s couch one night after a hard case—hell, a hard week—and yeah, they’re a little buzzed on the bottle of whiskey Danny picked up before coming over. If he’d known whiskey made Steve horny then he’d have started enabling this behavior earlier. As it is, it’s all good until Steve tries to sorta-kinda _climb_ on top of Danny right there on the couch. He’s got him pressed back against the arm of the sofa, all six feet of his horny, _heavy_ self and it is really uncomfortable, which may actually be something of an understatement.

They’re both half-naked, Steve’s working at his fly with one hand while he’s pushing at Danny and in the midst of all that, Danny’s upper half starts to go _over_ the arm of the couch. Danny’s mind and body are totally on board with Steve molesting him, but the thing is: he doesn’t _bend_ that way. Letting Steve ride him while he’s nursing a thrown out back just isn’t on the ticket.

“Look, babe, while I am totally okay with this idea you seem to have had about screwing on the sofa, you are _crushing me_ ,” Danny says and then he grabs Steve’s upper arms in a firm grip, intent on gently pushing him back a little so he can _breathe_.

He’s not thinking about the scraped, bruised place on the outside of Steve’s left arm from barely skimming through a closing warehouse door earlier when he does it. But the sound Steve makes, this strangely gasped-moaned, _Oh_ , has Danny freezing. Steve’s breath is hitching in his chest and his eyes have closed.

That’s… different, Danny thinks then Steve’s eyes pop open and he jerks out of Danny’s grip. He’s got the strangest look on his face when he does it, too; a look that Danny’s never seen before, part fierce want and part… shame? That can’t be right, Danny thinks, but he knows what he saw, too.

“Upstairs,” Steve says and then he’s up and off the sofa quicker than Danny thinks is really fair considering he consumed his fair share of half the bottle they drank.

He follows though and he thinks he should apologize for grabbing Steve’s arm like that. Then he remembers the sound he made and how it had nothing to do with him being in pain. The peculiar thing about it, Danny realizes, is that Steve _liked_ it. He’s really not quite sure what to do with that either.

Still, Danny can’t help but wonder.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny is testing a theory; following a lead, when a couple of weeks later he digs his fingers into Steve’s hips so hard his grip is just shy of bruising. He’s got Steve’s cock in his mouth and the taste of his precome is thick in the back of Danny’s throat when he does it under the pretense of keeping Steve from thrusting too far into his mouth.

Steve makes the most unbelievably gorgeous sound when he does it that Danny can’t help but dig in harder with his blunt fingers. Steve claws at the sheet and Danny’s pretense has the opposite effect: Steve bucks and jerks so hard when he comes that despite Danny holding onto Steve's hips, he still nearly chokes on Steve’s cock when he does it. It only makes him dig in harder and push _down_ to keep from strangling on Steve’s come. The whimpering sound Steve makes and the weak pulse of his cock in his mouth has Danny filing that bit of information away for later, too.

Steve’s hand on his shoulder, pulling gently with his shaking—holy shit, _shaking_ —fingers as he says, “Fuck me, Danny, come on, _fuck me_ ,” goes straight to Danny’s cock as he pries his hands away from Steve’s narrow, pretty hips.

When he licks the red indentations he left with his fingers before he moves up Steve’s body, Steve shivers. And that… well, _that_ is also very interesting.

What’s even more interesting is how Steve won’t look him in the eye for a couple of days afterward. Danny thinks that if he’s going to keep testing this theory then they need to work on that.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny doesn’t know if he should ask questions or keep winging it. He’s tried once already and Steve closed up on him tighter than Fort Knox. Danny half expected him to bark, _Classified!_ at him as he’d strode away with his back ramrod straight, every line of him rigid and his skin a little too pale.

Danny wouldn’t be the man and detective he is though if he didn’t ask questions and follow up on his investigations; be they criminal or sexual in nature. So he tries again and again, he gets stonewalled. Except this time, he’s having none of it and sometimes, _sometimes_ the best thing for Steve is for someone to push back when he's trying to push them away. Danny thinks this is one of those times because this is obviously a doozy and it sure as hell isn’t going to go away. Nor will Danny forget what he damn well knows: Steve likes pain, honest to God _likes_ it, as in _gets off_ on it.

“Just tell me,” he says when Steve tries to turn away from him yet again.

“Leave it alone,” Steve says.

“No, I will not leave it alone, Steven,” Danny snaps back and goes around Steve to look him in the eye. Steve looks over his shoulder. “You like it, right?”

“Fuck you,” Steve says and Danny’s pissed him off before, but this is different. Steve’s hackles are up and his teeth are bared, but this doesn’t have so much to do with anger as it does defensiveness.

“I’m not judging you here, you know,” Danny says and when Steve starts walking away, Danny follows.

“You’re like a yappy little dog snapping at my ankles,” Steve says and picks up his pace.

Danny ignores the insult, understands it was meant as a deflection and he’s not going to give into it. He moves a little faster and cuts right in front of Steve so close that Steve nearly walks right into him. “ _Steve!_ ” he snaps and puts a hand on his chest, gentle and more for comfort, oddly enough, than anything else.

“Yes, Danny, okay? I like it,” Steve snarls in his face, bending down low so they’re close enough he can see the look in Steve’s eyes and it’s not anger at all, not really, just like Danny thought. “Now let me go.”

Danny steps back and lets him go, watches as Steve stomps across the back lawn with his shoulders pulled in in a way Danny’s never seen before.

“That went well,” Danny says and throws his hands up in the air, but he’s got his answer and now what he needs is to give Steve his space. They can work out the details later and if not, Danny will work them out for them both.

Except… he still doesn’t know what to do with this, not really. Steve likes it, maybe he even needs it and he’s beautiful when he’s really getting what he apparently craves. But Danny, well, Danny’s not into _hurting_ people. He watches Steve down on the beach, staring at the water and figures he can still do this for Steve. Relationships are about compromise after all and watching him come so _undone_ is a lovely thing for sure. It’s enough for Danny to work with. He nods, a decisive jerk of his head and turns around to go inside.

When Steve comes back from the beach, Danny’s on the couch with a cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich. Steve gives him a look for eating in the living room and Danny raises an eyebrow at him, inviting comment, but Steve only sits down in the armchair and looks at Danny then away again. He’s tapping his fingers lightly on the arm of the chair and Danny waits him out, he can be patient when he needs to be, so he sips his coffee and watches Steve’s gaze darting all over the room.

His voice is soft and full of forced calm when he says, “Yes.” But he looks Danny right in the eye when he says it and that makes things a lot more alright than they had been outside. It’s a much bigger step in the right direction anyway.

Danny doesn’t need to ask what Steve’s talking about, so he just nods, says, “Okay,” and goes back to his coffee and sandwich. He knows when he’s pushed enough just like he’s learned when to push back, too.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The problem with coming to such a decision is that once it’s made, Danny realizes he has absolutely no clue what to do, nor does he have any idea _what_ it is they’re doing anyway, not really. When it was just testing a theory, that was easy because it was _testing a theory_. Now it is reality and Danny finds himself hurtling along one motherfucker of a learning curve.

They’re in bed and Danny’s fingers are slipping in the sweat that’s glossing Steve’s ribcage, he can taste it in his mouth when he kisses and licks, sucks a hickey just above Steve’s navel. It’s all out there now, heavy between them and Steve’s muscles shiver every once in a while with anticipation. He’s tense, waiting and wondering what Danny is going to do and Danny knows that. Danny’s issue is that he doesn’t _know_ what he’s doing now and he’s circling the idea, the _possibility_ like a skittish animal.

He mouths the slight dip of Steve’s waist, licks the sweat away there, too and then because he doesn’t know what else to do—he has no experience with this—he bites down. He bites gently at first, just a slight press of his teeth as he tastes Steve’s skin, salty and smooth and Steve sucks in a shuddering, anticipatory breath. That gives Danny the go ahead he was unconsciously looking for and he loosens his grip just enough to reseat it and dig his teeth in hard.

Steve jerks and cries out, “ _Fuck_ , Danny!” and Danny lets go immediately. He pushed too hard, too much and Steve does not approve of that message apparently. That bite is going to leave one hell of a bruise and Danny looks up at Steve, an apology on the tip of his tongue.

When their eyes meet, Danny sees that same look in Steve’s eyes, all hungry want and no upset. Then he says, “Do it again.” His voice is soft and totally _wrecked_ as he looks at Danny.

Danny recognizes that he misunderstood very much indeed and he nods. “Sure, sure,” he says and presses his thumb against part of the still spit-slick bite. Steve makes a whining sound low in the back of his throat and writhes under the pressure. It’s all the encouragement Danny needs as he drops his head again and sinks his teeth into Steve’s other side.

The sound that tears out of his throat when he does is amazing and only then does Danny realize he can feel his teeth pressing together through the thin wall of Steve’s flesh.

He lets go that time because he just isn’t sure how far he wants to go with this and he doesn’t know how far _Steve_ wants to go—how far he _can_ go, but there is this little ball of heat curled up in Danny’s belly all the same. It’s a small, glowing ember of a thing, but he can’t ignore it entirely either. He digs his thumb into the new bite mark as well and Steve moans, pressing upward into Danny’s rough touch. Danny can only stare and think, _Fucking gorgeous_.

That ember glows even brighter in his belly; giving rise to a word that is whispered in the back of his mind; black as tar and smooth as leather. Danny pushes it all down and catches Steve’s panting mouth in a kiss, using his teeth and tongue as he digs his fingers into the bites so hard the bruises will last for days.

Danny twists right on around that learning curve a little more, picking up his lessons and committing them to memory like any good student should.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There comes a day—as such days inevitably do in 5-0—when they run into a particularly violent perp and Steve, in his usual way, decides he can take him. Which he can and does, but not before the asshole manages to break a beer bottle (and Danny cannot get over what a fucking cliché that is, something right out of a Dirty Harry movie) and cut Steve with it. It’s not that deep, it doesn’t even need stitches, but it’s long and jagged, curving like an unfinished question mark down Steve’s right forearm.

And if Danny cuffs the guy tight enough to leave him feeling the ache of the steel cutting into his wrists a week from now because of that, what of it?

By the time they’re back home, it’s wee-hours-of-the-morning late, but they’re both still wide awake; pumped on caffeine and the last jittery vestiges of adrenaline. Steve’s worse than Danny is, but that’s almost always the case. He won’t sit still and keeps getting up to pace around even after they’ve had their showers. Danny, he’s just trying to unwind and is actually enjoying being still for the first time all day even if he is wide awake himself.

He’s watching Steve as he comes back from the kitchen with a bottle of water in hand, holding it like he’s choking it one-handed. “Hey,” Danny says.

“What?” Steve asks and Danny actually hears the plastic bottle crinkle as his fingers flex against it.

Danny licks his lips as he gets out of the chair and goes to Steve. He pries the bottle of water out of his hand and looks at him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, just wired is all,” Steve says.

Danny nods, he knew that anyway, he doesn’t even know why he asked. “How about we make each other tired, huh?”

Steve is quiet for a moment and then he smirks at Danny, nodding. “Plan,” is all he says and then he leans down to kiss Danny, still smirking.

They end up right there on the living room floor and what they lack in finesse they make up for in enthusiasm. It’s all grabbing hands and the scattering of hastily removed clothes, which neither of them were wearing much of anyway. Knot by knot Danny feels the muscles in his back unwinding and he feels Steve’s muscles doing the same thing.

He touches him everywhere, digging his fingers in where he’s learned Steve particularly likes it—inner thighs, between his third and fourth rib, the hollow place where his hip meets his groin. He nips and pinches little bitty bruises into Steve’s skin with his teeth that leave their breathing ragged and harsh. Danny drags his hands down Steve’s arms, letting his fingertips bite in enough to leave thick, red lines in their wake while he worries at a nipple, Steve squirming and panting under him. He doesn’t even think about Steve’s cut arm until his fingers scrape across the fresh, white gauze covering it.

Steve sucks in a harsh breath and his back bows up off the floor so hard he nearly knocks Danny over. “Danny,” he says, the word low and hoarse in his throat.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—” Danny starts and moves his hand away like he’s been burned.

Steve makes a low sound in the back of his throat and opens his eyes, looking right at Danny as he reaches out with his left hand and drags Danny’s hand back to his arm. Danny gets it, oh wow, does he fucking get it. He never thought… It never occurred to him that something like this would do it for Steve, too and he thinks maybe, _maybe_ Steve didn’t know it either. He’s not alone on this learning curve of his after all, perhaps it’s _their_ learning curve. This all started with Steve's scraped arm and it's carrying right along with his cut arm. Danny doesn't miss the switch-back their learning curve has just taken either.

With that new knowledge—and a little bit of relief—Danny tightens his grip on the cut again. Steve shudders all over, looking at him and looking _through_ him as his eyes go distant. Yet, they are so, so bright that Danny thinks he could become hypnotized, drunk, on that look alone.

Danny fucks Steve on the living room floor with his teeth in his shoulder and his hand running up and down Steve’s cut arm. When he comes, he clamps down around the deepest part of the cut without thinking and _twists_ his hand. Steve bucks hard again and the sound he makes is the closest thing to a scream Danny has ever heard come out of him. The extra jolt of pleasure that slams down Danny’s spine is intense and it’s only made more so when he feels Steve’s come splattering his belly while he whimpers under his breath, the sound raspy and raw.

It’s only after he comes down that Danny sees the gauze on Steve’s arm is blotched with red. He did that, he made Steve bleed and what’s more: He made Steve scream, he made him come just from what? Digging his fingers into raw flesh and making it hurt more? He didn’t cut Steve, but all the rest… _he did that_. He looks at his hand and he’s got bloodstains on his palm, too. Danny makes himself a little sick when he leans in for a closer look, reveling in it just a little bit.

Maybe they’re taking this stuff too far, he thinks when he jerks his head back and closes his hand into a loose fist, hiding the rusty smudges on his palm. Then he looks at Steve, who’s looking back at him, fingers idly running across a bruise Danny’s fingers left on his side. Steve smiles at him, a little loopy and he almost looks _stoned_. Danny lies beside him on the floor when Steve tugs at his arm to urge him down and thinks that maybe they’re doing okay after all. _Maybe_.

He still keeps his bloodstained fingers curled over his rust-colored palm. Just in case.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny is sitting in his office a week later and looking out the window into the bull pen when he should be doing paperwork. He’s watching Steve move around, micro-managing as is his wont. They’re all more than competent, but Steve likes to be on top of things and Danny can respect that, so long as he’s not always in his office, making a general nuisance of himself when Danny really is trying to get shit done.

Right now though he’s not doing anything but sitting behind his desk, watching the goings on out in the bull pen and feeling like a voyeur. He’s looking for something though; testing another theory. There’s something he’s noticed a couple of times before, but hadn’t paid a whole lot of attention to because he’d been busy with other things. He’s paying attention now and when Kono stops Steve on the way back to his office, he sees it.

It’s as Steve’s looking over her shoulder at the file in her hand that he puts his hand, not on his hip, but just above it in slight dip of his waist; a spot Danny has come to think of as _his_. There’s a bruise there in the shape of Danny’s mouth and as he watches, Steve’s fingers flex against that spot just a fraction. It’s like he’s touching it to reassure himself it’s still there; that it’s _real_. That what Danny’s teeth did to his flesh is still marked and accounted for.

As Danny looks on, he licks his teeth without even being aware of it; thinks he tastes the faint copper-cream flavor of Steve’s blood in his mouth all over again and feels instantly guilty for it. He’d bitten down again and felt his teeth meeting through that same thin wall of flesh, except last night Danny hadn't let go; he hadn't _wanted_ to. He feels guilty for wanting to go out there right this second and kiss Steve. Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. _Bite him_ until he tastes blood in his mouth again.

It’s that thought that has Danny looking away before Steve can glance up and catch him out. There is a word for what Danny is, there is probably more than one, in fact, but they’re all just variations on the same thing. That one word says nothing good to Danny. The word he knows for what he’s doing to Steve all comes down to meaning “serial killers and rapists”. He knows not everyone would agree and he himself knows better because he would _never_ , not in a million years even _think_ of doing those things. In fact just the idea turns his stomach a little bit. Still, his mind twist-squirms away from that word and what it means in Danny’s world.

He stares blankly at his computer screen and decides that they are going too far— _he’s_ going too far and turning into someone he doesn’t know. It’s some twisted up Jekyll-Hyde thing to Danny and he’s a little bit of both all the time now. He can’t say where one ends and one begins and wasn’t that the problem with the original monster after a while?

 _Monster_.

The word beats a tattoo in his mind. Is he really that? Danny doesn’t know because he’s split in two on that front as well—one side of himself says, _yes_ while the other adamantly shakes its head and says, _no_. The problem with that second half is that it has blood smeared on its mouth and a lust for causing the man he loves pain.

It was easier when all of this started, when Danny was still doing it just for Steve; to give him something he needed. He was being a good guy and a good lover then he thought. Now he’s gotten a taste for it and it makes him hungry for more. It eats up his thoughts and he thinks up new ways to hurt Steve so he can hear his voice crack on a scream or watch a bruise bloom blue-violet-red on Steve’s skin and think, _I did that_ with a measure of pride that’s rooted in feelings of genuine affection. That’s the hardest part to reconcile for Danny—loving Steve and loving the way it feels to _hurt_ Steve. He shouldn’t love to hurt someone he wants to look out for and take care of, it’s not normal; it’s not _right_.

At first it was Steve who was afraid and didn’t want to deal with this stuff and now it’s Danny. That, too, is all tangled up just like they’re all tangled up in each other; serpents twining together on a bed of broken glass.

Danny wonders what that says about them both because they’re the same people on the outside. But inside… inside…

Danny picks up his notebook and starts looking over his notes so he can fill out the case report he should’ve had done an hour and a half ago so he can stop thinking about this.

______x______

Steve sticks his head in his door about twenty minutes later and says, “Lunch? I’m buying.”

“So you say,” Danny retorts and makes himself relax.

Steve waves his wallet at him. “For real.” He’s waves the wallet at Danny again and Danny flaps his hands at him, _yeah, yeah_ , as he gets up to follow Steve outside.

They’re eating lunch on a bench down by the beach, watching the waves roll in and the surfer kids riding them with a grace Danny can’t help but find a little fascinating. Danny finishes his burger and looks over at Steve who’s watching the surfers, too, while he stuffs a fry into his mouth. Danny loops an arm around his waist and curls his fingers into the slight dip there; applying just the barest amount of pressure.

Steve makes a low, contented sound in the back of his throat and cuts his eyes to the side, watching Danny from beneath his lashes. Steve leans into him with a small smile that Danny returns and then he squeezes again, as lightly as before.

He simply cannot help himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Danny nearly drowns one blustery June night after they all bailed off a barge that was about to explode. He remembers the way the water above him had been glowing a fierce yellow-orange from the burning fuel floating on its surface. Danny thinks there is something to be said for being trapped underwater while above you the whole world looks like it is on fire. That and he has newfound sympathy for lobsters; in fact, he thinks he’s pretty much off them for good because of his little traumatic experience.

Danny actually can swim, is in fact quite a strong swimmer, but getting knocked willy-nilly into the water from the backlash of an explosion can really disorient a guy. As he’d fought to find the surface without braining himself on a piece of flaming debris in the process, he had thought he was going to die right there and become fish food. Parboiled fish food at that because the water had been so _hot_ due to the fire and it had only gotten hotter the closer Danny got to the surface. His lungs had been screaming for air as he’d fought to breach the surface and he’d been getting dizzy, had felt like he was going down instead of up and nothing had made a damned bit of sense as his arms and legs got heavier with every kick.

Then something had grabbed him around the waist and Danny had fought back with every bit of strength he had left because he’d thought, _Shark, a shark’s got me._ Come to find out, it was actually a SEAL. Steve had nearly drowned his drown-proofed self diving over and over to try and find Danny in the black water.

Danny remembers all too vividly the sound of Steve saying, “Danny, God, Danny, _please_ ,” as he’d dragged him through the water towards shore. The awful part of it to Danny is that even though he’d been conscious, he’d still been so out of it at first he almost hadn’t been able to offer a single word of comfort to stop the shaking in Steve’s voice as he’d towed him to shore.

Steve was on his third “please” before Danny had managed, “I’m right here, babe.”

It had at least stopped that awful chant Steve had gotten going and they’d made it to shore in one piece. They’d been waterlogged and miserable, but there hadn’t been a scratch on either of them. They’d spent a couple of hours in the ER so a doctor could tell them what they already knew and then they had been sent home to collapse.

That was three days ago and Steve’s still a wound up mess. Danny can’t seem to get him calmed down and Steve’s taken to following him around the house like his very own personal stalker. Or a puppy. A stalker puppy, maybe, Danny thinks with a frown as he looks up to find Steve standing in the doorway of the bedroom, biting his bottom lip—his one nervous habit aside from chewing on his nails when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching.

“You have got to stop,” Danny says and lays the paper he was reading aside. He’s been lazing around all day and Steve’s been doing Steve Things, with frequent checks to make sure Danny is still alive or whatever it is that’s eating at him.

“I’m still _right here_ ,” Danny says as Steve comes into the room to sit on the side of the bed.

Steve swallows and looks down at his hands clasped between his knees. “I thought…” Steve says to the floor between his feet and Danny reaches out to tug at him. He knows what Steve thought and that’s why he’s taken up chaperoning Danny’s everyday activities, like brushing his teeth or eating his lunch. He’s hovering to the point it’s actually driving Danny a little nuts even though he understands where Steve’s urge to do so is coming from.

“I know,” Danny says as Steve presses against his side.

“All through it, I couldn’t feel, Danny,” Steve says. “I was _numb_. All I knew was I had to get you out of the water or…”

Steve huffs out a breath and looks away again. Saying this kind of stuff is hard for him and Danny knows that, too. He knows a lot about Steve McGarrett; he’s made it his job to learn this man because he means so much to him.

“It’s okay though, you got me out,” Danny tells him.

“But what if I hadn’t? What if I had lost you?” Steve asks, snapping his head up, his voice suddenly fierce as he looks at Danny. “What if…” He shakes his head and takes Danny’s hand in his, turns it palm up and looks at it as he lets out another shaking breath. Then with his other hand, he drops a small pocketknife into Danny’s open palm, only then meeting his eyes. “I’m still numb, I need to feel. Danny, I need to _know_. I…”

He makes a coughing sound and Danny just stares dumbly at the knife in his hand. It is small, innocuous looking. It’s just a dark blue knife with the Browning logo in gold at the base of the case. He stares at the golden silhouette of a stag’s head and then looks back at Steve. “What…?” he starts to ask, but he knows _what_.

“Please,” Steve says as he finally meets his eyes. “I need it.”

There is such raw honesty in his gaze that Danny can barely meet it head-on because he is… he has become… a word he does not want to be. Steve is his polar opposite and maybe they both need this, but this is a twisted road they’re traveling and Danny’s not sure how much farther he can go down it. Except. Except he _does_ know; they both do and this is _them_ , it’s become another part of who they are _as_ them. Because of that knowledge Danny can deny that look in Steve’s eyes no more than he can that glowing ember that has become a red-hot coal in his belly, creeping up the back of his neck and seeping into his every fiber. Maybe it’s always been there, this part of him, locked tightly away in some secret place he didn’t have the right key to access, but Steve has given that to him just like he gave Steve the green light for his own needs.

Danny opens the knife and looks down at the short, undoubtedly sharp, blade and swallows. This is the point of no return; if they do this they can never undo it and Danny is finally okay with that.

“Take your shirt off and lay on your stomach,” he says. His voice is low and thick as he begins to picture what pretty things this little blade is going to do to Steve’s skin; the pretty sounds it’s going to draw out of his mouth. There will be blood, too and Danny wants to taste it. Now, at this juncture, he is only a little repulsed with himself for that desire.

Steve nods and stands up to strip off not only his shirt, but all of his clothes. Danny takes Steve’s lead and does the same, laying the knife on his pillow to wait. He stands by once he’s naked and watches Steve stretch out in the middle of the bed and only then does Danny climb over him, straddling his waist. He picks up the knife and looks down at Steve’s tanned, remarkably unscarred skin and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. Steve shivers a little bit and Danny kisses him again, this time the knob of bone at the top of his spine. This may be about blood and pain, but there is affection— _love_ —even in that; _especially_ in that, Danny thinks as he sits back and takes up the knife.

He presses the blade to Steve’s skin, mindful of its sharpness and drags down, watching Steve’s skin part under the pressure like velvet. Danny’s breath catches in his throat, a thick knot of desire tightening his chest and making warmth run through his veins as blood wells in the short cut. Steve gasps and bows his shoulders upward at the feel of the knife and Danny squeezes his sides with his thighs instinctively to still him.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

That should be a funny thing to say, but it isn’t. Danny wants to hurt Steve, true, but he doesn’t want to _damage_ him or cause him serious harm. He doesn’t want to inflict the kind of hurt that doesn’t feel good. Steve nods and Danny loosens the grip he has on his sides with his knees and picks the knife up to cut him again. He does it slow, leaning down close to watch the blade part Steve’s flesh.

Steve whimpers and says, “Fuck,” as he shivers.

After the third cut, Danny presses his lips to the bleeding wounds and licks into them, running his tongue into the little slashes in Steve’s skin. His breath feels hot and heavy in his lungs. When the blood slicks his lips, thick and sticky, Danny moans into Steve’s skin as the taste floods his mouth. Steve gasps and moans, moving under Danny now that it’s just his mouth and not the knife and before Danny even realizes what he’s doing, he’s biting over the cuts, spreading the mouths of the little wounds wider for more blood. Steve’s voice cracks and Danny makes an encouraging, _mhmm_ sound in the back of his throat as he mouths Steve’s skin, smearing blood and saliva all over it.

He sits back again and takes up the knife once more. “Still,” is all Danny says and Steve nods his understanding.

The blade, Danny realizes, almost makes a sound as it cuts through Steve’s skin. It’s a whispery little sound, it has a peculiar _movement_ to it even and Danny focuses on that, taking it all in as Steve says, “More, Danny, I want _more_.”

“So do I,” Danny says. His tone is almost absentminded as he makes the fifth cut. He’s focused on this, on keeping the knife steady and not cutting too deep as even his veins seem to throb with the pleasure of what he’s doing.

The sixth cut has Steve’s voice breaking on a cry and his knuckles are white they’re fisted so hard in the sheets. His back is a map of blood, some fresh, some already dried and some shiny, patent leather red clots laying against his skin and Danny drags his mouth over it all. He can feel the blood on his lips, on his cheeks, smeared on his chin and the sound that bubbles up out of his throat is almost a growl. God, they are so far gone; he was right—there is no going back, not after this. Danny isn’t even sure if he’d want to go back now, even if he was given the chance.

Danny slides the tip of his tongue through the newest cut and Steve cries out again. He’s squirming and rocking up into Danny, voice rough and heavy with his panting breath as he says Danny’s name again and again.

“I know, I’ve got you,” Danny says and leans over catch Steve’s mouth in an awkward kiss, sharing the taste of his blood with him. Steve moans and tries to turn over, but Danny lays a hand over the sticky wet mess between his shoulders to hold him still. Their simultaneous moans catch on each others tongues and Danny breaks the kiss so he can fumble for the lube in the nightstand drawer.

They move together on the bed, so close that the blood on Steve’s back smears between them as they do and it’s the best, it’s the fucking _ultimate_ to Danny as he bites the back of Steve’s neck possessively. Steve is shaking and so is he, they’ve gone one extra mile on their twisting road towards fuck knows where and it’s a trip, it is. The air smells like blood and fuck and Steve’s voice is raw and splintering. It is shattering against Danny’s skin as Steve’s blood smears his chest and Danny cries out into the back of Steve’s neck, nuzzling him now as Steve moves with him.

“Come on,” Danny murmurs against Steve’s sweaty hair, his blood-smeared lips dragging against damp, dark strands that stick to his mouth. “Come for me, Steve. Come on.”

Steve makes a choking sound in the back of his throat, half cry, half moan and Danny drags his mouth down to his still lazily bleeding back and presses a biting kiss to the raw skin there. That does it and the sound of Steve’s scream as he comes pushes Danny right over the edge with him and never has that happened before. It’s kind of perfect, Danny thinks as he slumps heavily against Steve’s back, murmuring soothing nonsense into his sweaty, bloody skin. He licks the lingering flavor of blood from his lips before he presses a kiss to Steve's jaw. It leaves a faint, distorted red imprint, tacky-moist and Danny thinks it looks fantastic there.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Six months later, Danny is washing the blood off his hands when Steve comes up behind him and hooks his chin over his shoulder to watch the pink-orange, soap-foamy water swirl down the drain. Danny glances to the side and sees there is a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. Steve looks back, quirking a lazy, sated grin at him and Danny leans his head slightly to the side to rest it against Steve’s while he finishes rinsing his hands.

When he’s done, he turns and licks that smudge of blood away before slipping his tongue inside Steve’s mouth to kiss him. As they kiss, Danny’s fingers find a small cut in his favorite spot and press against it so very gently. When he does, Steve deepens the kiss with a soft sound of contentment that matches Danny’s own. After a moment though, they pull away and Danny goes about getting everything together so he can clean Steve up.

This is where they are and it is still a strange, kind of scary place at times, but it’s real and it’s here to stay. After all, a theory that has been tested and proven becomes a law; Danny understands that very well now.

 **  
**

**The End**

 **  
**


End file.
